


Andante ma un poco sostenuto

by LateStarter58



Series: Theme and Variations: Tom and Livvy into the future [7]
Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Music, Wedding Planning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-14 00:43:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17498405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LateStarter58/pseuds/LateStarter58
Summary: It's the week of their wedding, but somehow, Livvy and Tom have a Prom to attend and a TV charity quiz special to record as well as being parents to their new baby girl. And then a world-famous conductor drops a bombshell...





	1. Buzzers, Bizet and Barenboim

**Author's Note:**

> This is it, I think, for me and these guys. But I never say never...

## LIVVY

OK. It’s all under control. Baby sleeping peacefully in her cot? – _check_. Venue booked? – _check_.  Dress (a little drapey)? – _check_. Bridesmaids (Emma and Bella)? – _check_. Chamber ensemble, singers and jazz band for the day sorted? - _check_. Mothers’ outfits, flowers, morning suits for the groom and best man? – all _check_ , _check_ , _check…_ So why, do you ask, was I sitting up in bed memorising the flags of all nations and battle dates from the Wars of the Roses?

##  I don’t know which panic-inducing event I was more worried about: I mean, every first-time mum is nervous, of course. And weddings are a well-documented cause of stress for the couple and their nearest and dearest… but honestly, I think that, at that precise moment, it was _University Challenge_ that was scaring me the most.

_Because I was making a herculean effort to shove what Mr B had said to me the night before to the very back of my mind…_

“Let’s do it, Liv! It’s a brilliant idea! It’ll be fun!”

He’s always so bloody enthusiastic, my Thomas. One of his ‘ _things’_ that made me love him, like the kindness in his eyes and the gentleness in everything else. I had to admit, I was flattered to be asked. I always like to watch the celebrity alumni versions they do, usually at Christmas, and I’d have loved to take part in it as a student, but the opportunity never arose. And this special, one-off edition, part of a charity day to help raise funds for UNICEF… well, it simply _had_ to be done. Of course, it would have been better if the recording weren’t only three days before our wedding. Tight schedules – mainly _his_ – meant that was the only window for everyone.

I suppose they (the BBC, UNICEF, whoever) liked the added spice of having a couple on opposing sides. Tom was a shoe-in for the Pembroke College team, of course, being all brainy and _the man of the hour_ , and all. I had been getting some attention on the back of his fame, in my comparatively new job as a presenter on _Radio 3_ , and our impending nuptials and very recent parenthood all meant that Jeremy Paxman could have some fun at our expense, no doubt.

Our teammates were no slouches, thank god, because in my case, I was fairly firm on music (as were we all, on my side, _I should bloody well hope!_ ) and I was okay-ish on movies, but science? History? _MATHS_??? ( _that’s a NOPE_ ). Well, we’d see, I supposed. With me I had Julian Lloyd-Webber the cellist, who is a lovely chap and very clever, choirmaster Gareth Malone – a total sweetie – and John Lill, the pianist. Tom’s team was as stellar: Tim Brooke-Taylor, of _The Goodies_ fame, the gorgeous actress Naomie Harris, and the political cartoonist Martin Rowson.

I sighed and put down _Whittaker's Almanac_ as I heard a gurgle through the monitor. Claire was stirring a little and I felt my nipples tingle. Tom was out again tonight, at the opening of a friend's play. I had decided I couldn’t go to that as well as the _Prom_ ; I was still getting my energy levels back up after the birth and more than two nights out in a week would finish me off. Not to mention our wedding at the weekend… I paused, listening, but she seemed to settle and I relaxed.

But unfortunately, stopping my cramming for _UC_ allowed Daniel’s voice back in, and my stomach started to flutter. _Could I do it?_ I’d nearly laughed, but he’d been serious, and _Mr Excitable McEagerpants_ had jumped on the idea.  And I knew _he’d_ never let up…

*********

## TOM

Taking my Livvy to the _Proms_ would always be special, even if, _technically,_ she was taking me, this time. As a BBC employee, she got advance booking for all the concerts, and in fact she had presented at a few this season. Not many, of course, just the odd afternoon and evening, because she’d only given birth a few weeks ago. But this was always going to be a big night. It was the first proper dress-up, bright lights date we had been on since our little Claire was born, as well as being the week of our wedding. But also, it was a very special concert, because of the line-up: the West-Eastern DIvan Orchestra, directed by its founder Maestro Daniel Barenboim, and accompanying his lifelong friend and fellow countryman, the magnificent pianist Martha Argerich. I could hardly be unaware of Daniel Barenboim, not just a living legend of the classical music world, but a world statesman. And, I was to discover, a, charming, funny and mischievous person.

We arrived in plenty of time, so that my darling could pop in and see her colleague Sarah, who was in the radio booth that evening. I took the chance to stand back and admire my fiancée: she was wearing a loose sleeveless shirt and wide evening trousers, both in dark red silk. Her hair shimmered like liquid caramel. She looked perfect; despite her complaints about her still ‘fat stomach’, I saw her as she was: as delicious as ever.After a quick chat, we headed for the auditorium.

Naturally, Livvy had arranged really good seats for us: near the orchestra, and facing the piano keyboard so we could see Martha’s hands. She was incredible; I don't think her fingers know she’s seventy-five years old. She played the Liszt concerto like someone in her twenties, and then when she and Daniel sat together and played some Schubert as an encore, Livvy started crying. I know why. It felt so intimate, as if we were eavesdropping on old friends having an evening of music-making together. We were on a huge high when it all came to an end. Great art does that, whatever it is. A Rembrandt painting, a magnificent Shakespeare production, a great film, whatever; it can have the effect of lifting you up to another plane of existence, and Livvy and I certainly felt that way. But little did we know what more the evening held in store for us.

Daniel had met Liv at the _Beeb_ the week before and when she had told him we’d be at the concert, he had invited us to meet him for a drink afterwards. So, when the house lights went up, and once we had checked in with our nanny, Bridget, we made our way round to the dressing rooms. Now, my beautiful girl and I have been together for a while, but this was the first time I had seen her backstage at a musical event. We’d been to many concerts together, and of course to opera performances ( _without those..._ ), but only as audience members. Now I was seeing her in her natural environment, mingling with fellow musicians.

She was transformed; she glowed with an inner light I had glimpsed once or twice before, but this time it was blazing out of her. She keeps doing this to me; every time I believe I could not love this woman more, she becomes even more beautiful, more talented, more irresistible and alluring. Seeing Livvy so excited and looking so happy in that place made an idea begin to take form in my mind, but there was no time for me to think further because there was Daniel, and with him, Martha. I took to her immediately; she is as quiet and reserved as he is lively and effusive. For one so talented, she is very modest and shy, like many great performers I have met.

We went to their hotel for drinks. Livvy and Dan chatted all the way there in the car, about Berlin (where he is music director of both the _Opera_ and the _Staatskapelle_ ), and about the concert. Martha sat between them, smiling and occasionally contributing to the conversation. I sat facing them all in one of the fold-down seats, just listening. Every now and then Martha would catch my eye and smile. I like her, _a lot_.

While Liv was in the ladies’ room, Daniel leaned over and asked me about her. “Martin tells me she’s a very good mezzo. She is so young, why is she not singing, Thomas?”

“Well… It’s a long story, but she wasn’t physically… well, more _psychologically_ , really... _able_ to sing, not for some years. She only got her voice back fairly recently. I’d love her to sing more, but she has her job, and now our daughter…”

“Pshhht! Once a singer, always a singer.” He fixed me with his intense eyes. He is the most compelling character, I swear, he could talk anyone into anything. “You must persuade her. Martin tells me she has a beautiful instrument.” I nodded. Heaven knows, I would love the world to hear what I do every day we are together: her creamy, sexy sound (I might need to get more immune to it, or else walk around with a permanent hard-on).

I assumed he would change the subject when the object of our discussion returned to the table, but I didn't know him that well. Daniel Barenboim doesn’t mess around. As she sat down he turned to her, his face suddenly serious. “Olivia, I have a proposal for you.”

Livvy looked a little startled. “Umm...what’s that, Maestro?”

He glanced at me and winked. “I have heard, and not from your significant other here, that you are a wonderful singer, not singing. You are wasting that lovely instrument of yours. You should be sharing it with more than just your family.”

Livvy was deathly quiet. She took a deep breath and said: “But Maestro, I haven’t had-”

“We will be back in twelve months, the orchestra and I. I am just considering the programme, with David. I want to do a semi-staged _Carmen_...”

Her face lit up. “Ooh, lovely!”

“...with you.”

Liv went very pale, even for her. Her eyes were huge. I squeezed her arm gently and her other hand grabbed mine painfully. She turned to me. “What have you…? Is this your idea, Tom?”

Before I could speak, Daniel butted in. “No, Olivia, it is mine. I was discussing this with your colleague the other day. He told me about your beautiful sound, and I know you have the musicality in you; it is obvious in all you do. Martin assured me you are more than able to do it, and do it well. And I am even more sure after seeing you tonight, at the hall. You came alive backstage. That is your place in the world. Where you should be.” He regarded her steadily, and I saw her succumbing to his will.

I looked over at Martha, who had been a silent witness to all the events. She was smiling more broadly than I'd seen her do all evening. “Daniel is quite right, Olivia.” Everyone started a little at the sudden sound of her voice. She leaned forward and put her hand on Livvy’s leg. “You are an artist. You have to be. It’s all part of what makes you _you_. Being a woman, a mother too, these things should not stop you, they should push you forward.” Her face was serious again and I saw how captivated Liv was by her words. “Being a woman, a mother. That takes courage in this world, does it not? So does pursuing a career, my dear, but it is easy compared to those other things. For one such as you, it will be _una pavada.”_

“B-b-but… I haven’t had a single singing lesson in nearly nine years!”

Daniel protested. “But you do sing, Thomas tells me.”

I was fixed with the sort of look that turns better men than me to jelly. Her green eyes were aflame. “ _Does_ he, now?”

I had to defend myself. “Don’t look at me! Martin Handley’s the one to blame. It was he who told Daniel you’re a mezzo.” The glare softened a smidgen. “But I do agree. You should think about this, Liv.”

I saw it then: the embers glowing brightly as the thought of resuming her music career took hold. I had a vision then, one that had started to form at the Albert Hall: of my beautiful soon-to-be wife standing on the stage beside the rostrum, with Daniel at the baton. She was embodying Carmen; sensual, rebellious, intelligent. His idea was more than perfect.

In the car home, I nudged gently. “Surely it’s worth considering, Liv. I mean, how many people get an offer like that?”

“Oh, I doubt he meant it. He’s never even heard me sing a note.”

I eyed her. “I don’t think Daniel Barenboim goes around saying that sort of thing willy-nilly. Or offering this sort of opportunity gratuitously. ” Her eyebrows rose, a gesture I knew meant she conceded I had a point. “At least say you’ll think about it.”

She sighed, and I could see the battle raging inside. “It’s just… I _can’t_ think about it, not right now, Tom. I mean, there’s Claire, and the wedding - each of which would be enough on their own, for _normal_ people - but we have this stupid quiz show as well…” She threw her hands up in exasperation. “Oh, shut it, you!”

I’d laughed. I shouldn't have, but it was funny. I was used to things piling up like that, but Liv had spent six years in a sort of self-imposed exile from the world, while she grieved. Now, after nearly three years back at work, she was finally getting a taste of what was pretty routine for me.

“I’m sorry, love, but after we get back from Italy, why don’t you call your singing teacher? Have a chat?”

I saw her trying to maintain the grumpy persona, but her excitement was peeking out. She’ll do it, I know she will. And I can't wait.

 

 

## LIVVY

“Now, some of you will know that the two team captains are already, er, _acquainted_ with one another. In fact, they have kindly taken time out from their wedding preparations to be here. Let’s hope they don't decide to cancel after tonight.”

_Thanks, Jezza._

I could see our little gaggle of supporters in the front row, all laughing heartily. Mum and Emma, Diana between Bella and _Martin-bloody-Handley_ as I was now calling him. Luke was next to my Mum, with Joe, Tom’s best man, on his other side. It was practically a rehearsal dinner, except we weren’t having one of those. Actually, I was laughing too. I was horribly nervous - it was my first TV appearance, after all. I’ve broadcast a lot since I joined _Radio 3_ , and I still get anxious beforehand, but once I start, assuming no technical troubles, I’m fine. But this was much, much scarier. This was the first time Tom and I were going to appear together actually _doing something_ , rather than just standing around, looking pretty (him, that is). Not only was I going to be on view, with all my pastiness, freckles and carrot-top, but also I was expected to answer _really hard questions_!

My man, on the other hand, had been so relaxed in the greenroom, all jokey and horsing around, it was irritating. He even ate cake and enjoyed it, the bloody nerve! This was a night off, for him. A bit of fun.

“My name is Tom Hiddleston…” _The mouth thing, he does it when he says ‘Hiddleston’. Drives me mad, clouds my brain. That’s my story, and I am sticking to it._ “I graduated from Pembroke in 2002 with a double first in Classics. Nowadays, however, I dress up and pretend to be other people for a living.”

They showed his graduation picture. Smug grin, floofy mad hair. I want him to grow that again, but he prefers to keep it short now. I’ve tried sulking, tears… Maybe  I should tell him that longer hair is key to the development of Claire’s fine motor skills…?

My pic was embarrassing. I have no idea what the fuck I was wearing that day. Of course, my intro was less impressive, too: “I’m Olivia Jackson. I graduated with a BA in English from the University of Manchester in 2006, then I attended the RCM for two years. Now I write about music and I am a presenter on _Radio 3_ , when not looking after my new baby daughter.” I saw Tom smiling out of the corner of my eye, his face pink. The tiniest mention of Claire makes him go all goo-goo.

It was expected to take a couple of hours, to do it all. The quiz itself is recorded in real time, but there is all the setting up, checks on the equipment, and the recording of the introduction, which took _forever_. Nobody fluffed their words. Except for Jeremy, who, to be fair to him, had more than the rest of us, but on the other hand he did have it written on autocue.  The remaining delays were caused by the usual sorts of things: people talking in the audience when they shouldn’t; someone in the studio dropping what sounded like a bag of tools into a tin bath; John, bless him, getting a sneezing fit.

Finally, _at last_ , we got to the actual quiz.

There was a departure from the normal format, to show a short film about UNICEF’s work in the middle of the contest. It was a relief to get a breather, because we were trailing and I had begun to find it impossible to think. After the restart, Julian answered the first starter correctly and we got the bonus questions. I laughed aloud when Jeremy announced they were about _Norse_ deities _._ I assume it was a deliberate attempt to lighten the mood after the rather moving video, especially when the last of the three was _“Which of the gods was said in various myths to have married a giantess, stolen the hair of Sif and to have fathered (or is that mothered) both a wolf and an eight-legged horse?”_

Tom made as if to leave as our little claque roared their approval. I rolled my eyes exaggeratedly and gave the answer, but not before pointing across the studio at my fiancé. He flashed me a grin while shaking his head in mock regret. I forgot my nerves and enjoyed the rest of the quiz. Pembroke College still won, of course. But it was no walkover; there were only twenty points in it at the end. If we Royal College of Music types had got that Beethoven bonus instead of them… oh well. It was the most fun I’d had in ages (with my clothes on), I confess. My teammates were great company, the opposition were funny and entertaining (and easy on the eye - Naomie is a _stunner_ ), and we had a wonderful session afterwards, chatting over coffee and wine.

We drove home tired but happy, and Tom chose to take the E-Type on a route through Kensington. As we passed the glowing bauble of the Albert Hall, he spoke. “Had time to think any more about Daniel’s offer, love?”

“Hardly had time to breathe, darling.” I turned to look at his beautiful profile. The lights of London sent shadows chasing across his lovely face. “But I will, I promise. Just as soon as you make an honest woman of me.” I was keen to get back home; we had left the house at five, and it was now past ten. I missed Claire. He leaned forward and pressed ‘play’ on the cassette (it’s a very old car) and Teresa Berganza began singing: “ _Les tringles des sistres tintinaient, avec un éclat métallique_ …” Where on earth he had got hold of a tape of _Carmen,_ I could not imagine.

“ _Thomas…_ ”

He smiled serenely and turned left, onto the road through Hyde Park. I settled down in the lovely leather of my gorgeous car. I could see I was going to be in for a honeymoon full of this sort of not-so-subtle pressure.

 

 


	2. Rosemary, for remembrance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ophelia: “There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance. Pray you, love, remember. And there is pansies, that’s for thoughts.” Hamlet, Act 4 Scene 5

## TOM

I’d been thinking a lot about Mike, that week leading up to our wedding.

I never met him, of course; he was killed in an accident six years before Livvy and I met. But because he will always be an important part of her life - _and I accept that, unconditionally -_ he is a part of mine too, but in a way that is not easy to categorise. It was his _absence_ that was crucial to me. That was the thought I couldn’t get out of my head that week: that he had to die for me to have all this. The day before the ceremony, I woke very early and lay in bed thinking about the horrible irony of it. If Mike had lived, if he had, as Liv sometimes expressed it, _‘caught the bus that day’,_ I would not be here now, in love with the most beautiful woman I have ever known, in our home with a little girl we made together. I know it’s not rational, but that was the feeling that kept on coming back to me.

I suppose some of it was related to feelings of guilt, even though I had no role in what happened to him. And, of course, that perennial favourite, inadequacy; the suspicion that I didn’t deserve it, her, _them_. I rolled on my side and looked at Livvy. Her gorgeous, vibrant red hair was a firework explosion on the pillow; her lovely face was perfect at rest. That creamy skin so luscious; her rosy lips as kissable as ever. Not for the first time I recalled how close I came to missing that night at the _Garnier_. It never failed to chill me to the bone. Yet another terrifying _what if…_

I forced myself to snap out of it. There wasn’t time for this sort of silliness; it was barely 30 hours until the ceremony, and there were a few final details I wanted to finesse. A familiar sound came from the baby monitor, much to my chagrin. I had hoped that there might be time for just one more, before we made it official… I rolled back and sat up on the edge of the bed. Livvy stirred.

“I’ll fetch her,” I said. “Stay there. If she’s hungry, I’ll bring her in.”

I wasn’t going to waste a moment. Once I had dropped Liv off at the Hall later, I wouldn't see either of them again until the wedding. Yes, we were doing at least one thing the traditional way: I would be spending the night before at my Mum’s house.

I still had those moments when it hit me: I wasgetting married! Me: _Thomas William Hiddleston_.  For long tracts of time I had believed it would never happen; when I was younger I was sceptical about the whole idea of marriage. My cynicism aside, I hadn’t found the kind of stability in a relationship which allowed me to consider it as an option. But as time passed, I recognised a longing in me that could not be denied. Ironically, by that time my career had become so fulfilling and hectic that it was proving next to impossible to find that ‘special someone’.

And then life does what it often can, and decided to catch me unawares. It brought Livvy and me to the same place and time. Of course, my beautiful one did not make it easy for me, and thank goodness for that; nothing worth having is ever easy. After all our trials we were on the eve of our wedding, and here was I, holding our baby daughter in my arms. The realities of fatherhood rapidly brought me back to the present. A little red face was glaring angrily at me, two tiny fists clenched as their owner wailed pitifully. As I held her to my chest, Claire rooted and I knew that only her Mum could help, so I returned with our bundle of joy.

I left my family to get on with the first breakfast of the day and went to make coffee and check my phone. I sent a couple of messages, to Clem and Steph, just double-checking on some arrangements. Music was Livvy’s life, as well as being what had brought us together, so it was to play a large role on our special day. Friends and family were taking part, naturally, and Liv had been busy arranging things with colleagues old and new, and choosing the programme, both for the ceremony and the reception. What she didn’t know is that I had been having some confidential talks of my own. One or two pieces had been replaced without her knowledge, so that I could surprise her tomorrow.

 

## LIVVY

Glemham Hall looked beautiful as we drove up the long drive. The sun was shining and the red brick of its elegant Elizabethan façade glowed in the warm September light. We had chosen this venue after months of surfing, a few visits, back and forth conversations with Mum and Diana, Bella and Emma, because in the end, it met all our criteria: the grounds and the rooms were beautiful, there was enough accommodation for our needs and it was close to Aldeburgh and the area where I had grown up, making it more than ideal for our wedding. _Our wedding…_ just the word made my stomach as tight as a drum (internally - the outside, less so). I was excited, of course, and eager. I had no doubts I was doing the right thing, but naturally I was anxious it would all go smoothly. And there was a hint of sadness as well; I missed my Dad keenly at that moment. I had accepted that everything about the day would be tinged with regret at his absence.

I looked over at Tom. He had that half-smile on his face, the one that meant he was excited but trying to contain it. It was a familiar enough sight to me now, after three years. His beauty could still take my breath away, though. I suppose I’ll never get completely accustomed to it, because it changes all the time; some days he is just sweet and dorky and almost childlike; other times he is so sexy I can’t keep my hands off him; and he always makes sure I know how much he loves me. I turned to look back at Claire, safely tucked up in her car seat, fast asleep and blissfully unaware of the significance of the next day. Her blonde hair was just long enough now to be beginning to curl, and she looked like a cherub. But then, most babies look like angels, right… when asleep! A felt another twinge - Dad would never know her, nor her him, but such is life.

We drew up by the impressive entrance and Tom got Claire out and into her buggy while I fetched my bag and some of the baby paraphernalia. Mum appeared by the door and ran over to help, followed by one of the Hall staff.

“Here they are! Lovely! Bella and your sister are here, Tom. Come in and have a coffee or something, dear?”

He checked his watch. “I’d better not, Margaret. I’m expected at Aldeburgh. I think Mum has invited some people for drinks.”

He came as far as the lounge and once he had greeted Bella and Emma, he pulled me into the hall while the others cooed over Claire. I was pressed firmly against the beautiful hand-printed wallpaper.

“Now then, you behave yourself, young lady.” Kisses were peppered over my face. “I know it’s your last night of freedom, but-”

“Oh Thomas, that was long ago. You’ve had me locked up tight since I set eyes on you.”

A breathy laugh. “Eheheheh. Good.” More kisses, ending with a lingering one on the mouth. I could feel my knees wobbling. I suppose one day I’ll become immune, but _not yet, not yet…_

I whispered. “Next time you see me I’ll be in my dress and you’ll be in your morning suit.”

“And you’ll be coming down the aisle to marry me, my beautiful Olivia.” His eyes were glistening. I think. It’s not that easy to see when you’re welling up. I shoved at him.

“Stop it! You’ll have me in pieces and they’ll think I’m upset. Go on, get going!”

He stepped back and bowed, doing one of those infuriating salutes of his. “See you tomorrow, then.”

 

I stirred as it was getting light, my insides beginning to tingle almost immediately. I had slept, though, surprisingly well. It helped that Mum had Claire in her room. She’d insisted I needed to get a ‘proper rest’. As I may have said before, Margaret Jackson is a calm person, but with a core of steel; I know when resistance is futile. I’d expressed some milk and she put it in her minibar fridge for the night feed. I knew Claire would be fine but nevertheless it felt strange to be without her. I had woken up a few times, reaching for Tom and/or the baby. I checked my phone: no messages. I texted Tom:

_< Morning. TTYL xxxxx>_

The reply was immediate:

**_< I’ll be waiting. LOVE YOU xxxxxxxxxxx>_ **

Within the hour my room, which had been a haven of peace and tranquillity, had transformed into a hive of activity. Chloe the hairdresser was blow-drying, Marina the beautician had just arrived to do my makeup (she’d been the night before for everyone’s mani-pedis) and Mum, Emma and Bella (in various states of readiness) were chatting excitedly and taking turns to cuddle my daughter. My chair faced the mirror, and to the right of that was a large window which gave me a view of the gorgeous parkland that surrounded the Hall. The leaves on the oaks were just beginning to turn, and a few were blowing lazily across the grass. The sight calmed me; it was a pleasant contrast to the bustle inside. I glanced at my reflection. _Shit. This is really happening._

I was suddenly transported back to my hotel room in Paris three years before. I had been nervous, about to head out on my first assignment as a professional reviewer. Despite being thirty years old, that night I had felt as immature and uncertain as a schoolgirl, and so I had played at being a grown-up. Now I felt an echo of that same anxiety, but one glance at the room and I did not feel so juvenile. There, in her Grandma’s arms, was my Claire. Her father was ten miles away, getting ready as I was for our wedding. The man I adored, the person I was not looking for in Paris, but whom I found, nonetheless. I had not believed I could find happiness again, but Tom showed me I was wrong about that. My stomach fluttered at the recollection of my doubts and all my fears about moving on.

And so, by following this cascade of memories I came to Mike’s face. To his embrace and the soft sounds of our last goodbye. I had left him in bed because he was on a late shift, whereas I had classes all day at the RCM. My last memory of him was of a warm cuddle on a cold and wet morning. That was what had been coming to mind as I had remembered him, quite often during my pregnancy and as the wedding drew nearer. The happiness we shared; the love. The terrible pain of loss had eased, but it did flare at times; I suppose it always will, because I was so deeply in love with him.

Harsh, stinging thoughts crossed my mind as I sat there. _It could have been us_ : Mike and I might have got married, had our own baby; in fact, I am sure we would have done, had he not gone under that lorry. I gulped back my tears and focussed on the day ahead, and the reality of my life now: I am incredibly fortunate to have been given another bite at the cherry. Mike would have wanted all this for me, I am certain of that. I looked over at Bella and our eyes met. Did she know what I was thinking? We were close enough for her to guess. I am sure her brother had been in her thoughts on this momentous day. She smiled encouragingly at me and I nodded and returned it. _She understands._

Everyone was busy and the process of getting ready soon absorbed me. The ceremony was at noon and I could hear cars arriving and the sounds of people and preparations outside and downstairs. Most of my friends are musicians and several of them had been kind enough to offer to sing and play at the ceremony or later on. Soon the sound of instruments tuning up and singers warming their voices could be heard whenever the door to the landing was opened. The last hour passed in a whirl of photographers and various people, including Diana, popping in to say all was well (so often I began to suspect I was being falsely reassured and some disaster was actually unfolding). Finally I was more or less ready.

If I had wondered if Tom had given any thought to Mike, then I was certain when the florist arrived.

“Mr Hiddleston had a late request, but we were able to accommodate it.”

“Oh.” I had no idea what she meant, but then I saw it: in the middle of my bouquet of cream and soft pink roses was a dark green sprig of rosemary. “When did he ask for this?”

“Yesterday. He popped into the shop, actually. He said it was important to both of you.”

I knew then. Rosemary. For remembrance; I didn't doubt that he meant it for Dad and Mike. I looked at Mum and Bella, who were holding hands. My mother wiped away a tear (one of many she shed that day) and managed to speak.

“Bless him. I told you he was a keeper, love.”

It was almost time. I stood up, picking up the flowers as the last detail.  My dress was perfect. Blush pink lace all over, with a full skirt and a fitted scoop necked bodice that made the most of my, er, assets (the ones Tom seemed inordinately fond of)... Mum was crying, and I admit, when I looked in the mirror I was a bit overwhelmed myself. Then there was no more time for primping and preparation. Mum kissed and hugged me before she went downstairs with Claire and dear ‘Uncle’ (actually a close family friend but as a good as) Anton was there, offering his arm. We reached the top of the magnificent staircase and he looked at me.

“Ready, Olivia, dear?”

I nodded and he raised a hand to someone below. The opening bars of _Laudate Dominium_ drifted up and we began to descend.

I took my time, soaking it all in. Emma and others had warned me that it was too easy to be in a fog and not enjoy every detail, so I heeded their words. The staircase was a vision: there were roses in white, cream and soft pink, in garlands all down the bannisters. I could hear my old college friend Stephanie’s pure soprano singing the solo, and then, as we reached the threshold of the Grand Hall and paused momentarily, the chorus came in. The musicians were at the back of the room, by the door. I smiled as I passed; I knew every one of them, as classmates and friends, there were even a couple of my current colleagues: Clemmie Burton-Hill was leading the chamber group on her violin. It was all utterly perfect. Roses everywhere; candles; cream covers, lace and bows on the chairs; people standing in their finery while I processed in, and there, at the front, in their morning suits, the best man and my man.

Joe looked round and gaped at me, while convulsively tapping Tom’s shoulder. I saw my fiancé slowly turn his head and when he finally looked at me, it was just like that night at the Garnier. Fireworks and confetti and marching bands and all the clichés you can name…

 

## TOM

I couldn’t breathe.

The music soared: beautiful, graceful, like her. The room seemed to funnel down to the stretch of aisle, ever shortening, between us. She shimmered. Her beauty; her hair, gloriously glamorous in a swept-up style, dotted with flowers and jewels; the dress, the same shade of pink as Claire’s little outfit… I felt how I had the first time I saw her, below me in the stalls in Paris. Stunned; desperate; irresistibly drawn to her. Except now, instead of a beautiful stranger, she was the woman walking towards me, about to become my wife. When she reached me I stepped out and stood beside her. I had planned to say something suave at that moment, but when it came to it I was unable to speak. The best I could manage was a tilt of my head to lightly touch hers and a gentle brush of my fingers on her hand. She raised her flowers a little and whispered.

“Thanks for the rosemary, darling.”

“I thought we would all want to remember them today.”

She reached for me and I took her hand as she squeezed hard. I still daren’t look into her face, because we had to say some words next, and I was afraid I would lose it completely once I saw those green eyes close up. I heard the registrar clear her throat and somehow years of training kicked in. I pulled myself together and the formal ceremonial part of the day got going.

Once we had exchanged the legal vows, we had to sign the register along with the witnesses. Livvy had asked for some more Mozart to be played at this point, but I had intervened - unbeknownst to her. Stephanie and Clemency, Liv’s _Radio 3_ colleague, helped me by coming up with arrangements of two songs of great significance for us. This first one was _Let Your Love Walk In._ It was the song that started the playlist I had made for that night in Munich, and I knew Liv hadn't forgotten. The words were so relevant to us then, too. As the chamber group began to play, Livvy’s head snapped up from the register, then her fiery gaze came to rest on me. As Stephanie began to sing, her face broke into a broad smile and she kissed my cheek, then whispered in my ear.

“Cheeky boy. Nice one.”

I grinned. It was just the start.

My dear mentor Ken read **_Sonnet 18_** for us (his choice, and I saw him trying not to corpse when he caught my eye on the word ‘lovely’), and Bella had chosen for her reading **_Fate_** , by Carolyn Wells:

 “ _They enter the same door, and suddenly/ They meet._ ”

Although we were not born a world apart, the sentiment was perfect. Livvy and I sat listening, close together, hands entwined. Claire grumbled in her Grandma’s arms and I took her briefly, before it was our turn.

I had the luxury of over a year to decide on my own words. I considered writing something, but opted to save that for the speeches later, and finally, after many hours, sleepless nights and long-haul flights of wrestling I knew I had it. I passed my daughter back and stood to recite some Neruda:

_I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,_

_I love you directly without problems or pride:_

_I love you like this because I don’t know any other way to love,_

_except in this form in which I am not nor are you,_

_so close that your hand upon my chest is mine,_

_so close that your eyes close with my dreams._

Neither of us had revealed our choices, but I suspected I would know Livvy’s. She was often to be found mooning around with a volume of Elizabeth Barrett Browning in her hand. But as so often, I was completely wrong. She stood and turned to face the room. Once again, I was overwhelmed by her; her grace and beauty, her composure. We had been through so much, and I knew she was missing her Dad so terribly that day, but she bore it so calmly.

“I am going to read **_Love Song_** _,_ by Mary Carolyn Davies.

_There is a strong wall about me to protect me:_

_It is built of the words you have said to me._

_There are swords about me to keep me safe:_

_They are the kisses of your lips._

_Before me goes a shield to guard me from harm:_

_It is the shadow of your arms between me and danger._

_All the wishes of my mind know your name,_

_And the white desires of my heart_

_They are acquainted with you._

_The cry of my body for completeness,_

_That is a cry to you._

_My blood beats out your name to me,_

_unceasing, pitiless_

_Your name, your name.”_

 

Well, I lost it then. Her lovely voice, so sexy, her eyes on me, the love we shared… I sobbed. Margaret put a hand on my arm, and when Liv sat down I buried my wet face in her shoulder, already recovering but needing her to hold me. Those words, which I had never heard before that day, could just as easily have been my choice. She is my shield, my strength, my life.

The sharp tap of a bow on a music stand brought me to my senses; it was time for us to leave, and thus time for Livvy’s next surprise. Instead of Mozart’s _Agnus Dei_ from the Coronation Mass, the chamber group and Stephanie launched into a baroque-style version of _Make You Feel My Love._ I felt the grip on my arm tighten as we set off, surrounded by smiling faces.

“Oh, _you_!”

“Like it?”

She nodded, eyes shining. I heard Emma laugh and turned my head to see her right behind us, holding Claire. Next to her was Bella, tears on her cheeks but a smile on her lips. I smiled back gratefully; the day must have been so tough for her, knowing that it could have been her late brother in my place. But I have never felt so much as an atom of resentment from her or her mother, whom I spotted a few rows back in the room. All I have ever sensed from either is love for Liv and happiness on her behalf.

We made it out and the photography marathon began. The weather was holding, so we were able to get some _Branagh’s Much Ado-style_ shots in the gardens. Claire was getting a bit grizzly by this time so Liv & I broke off to pop upstairs and feed, change, and put her down for a sleep. When we were happy she was settled and Bridget was installed to sit with her, we returned to our guests for the wedding breakfast.

 

## LIVVY

Despite my best efforts, much of that day passed in something of a blur. Once the first unexpected music started, I was so off-balance that I was constantly waiting for his next surprise. I did get a respite after the ceremony, and it wasn’t until the eating was over, the cake had been cut and it was time to start the dancing that he got me again.

I knew he was up to something when he kept looking at Diana. The little jazz band, that’s to say my friends Bob, Dave and Steve, were settling in ready to play when I saw my mother-in-law ( _OMG…)_ walk over and sit down at the piano. I looked at my husband - _yes, I KNOW… that’s going to take some practice_ \- but he just smirked, stood up and held out his hand. Bob’s dark brown voice came over the PA:

“Ladies and gentlemen, Mr and Mrs Hiddleston.”

I heard the opening bars of something very familiar: _Love is Here to Stay._

“ _Gibraltar may tumble, the Rockies may crumble, they’re only made of clay_...”

His soft baritone was filling my head, as it had in the interval in Paris last year. We moved slowly around the dance floor and when the song ended I turned and applauded Diana as she took a reluctant bow. I was so moved that she had learned that for us, to recall the night he proposed to me. We hugged and I knew I was incredibly lucky, in so many ways.

“So,” I asked as we continued to dance, now surrounded by other couples, “any more surprises?”

“Not ‘til we’re alone, darling,” he said, darkly, and suddenly I wanted to leave immediately. But I couldn’t of course. So I made do with being in his arms, and remembering how that felt the first time, in Munich. I recalled, briefly, how afraid I had been, because even then, on such a short acquaintance, I knew I was in love. It took me a while longer to act on it, and thank heavens my Tom is a patient man, or at least he was when it came to me.

It seemed, as the evening went on, that he had peppered the band’s set and the DJ’s playlist with songs of significance for us. Tom is so thoughtful and an incurable romantic, so it should not have been unexpected. I watched him dancing with his sister, then with Bella, twirling them around to show off the lovely cut of their dresses; I saw him across the room, talking earnestly to Chris and Ben, then seeing me and smiling in a way that made me want to cry or run over and ravage him; or both.

Trying to regain a hold on myself, I looked around the room. It was filled with the people we love. Hundreds of them. It struck me that less than three years before I was a virtual recluse, buried in grief and only emerging occasionally to breathe in some music or spend a quiet evening with Bella or my parents. I let my eyes linger on my flowers, which were lying on the table next to me. I picked them up and smelled the aromatic herb Tom had added to the roses. _Rosemary, that’s for remembrance…_ Tom’s speech earlier had ended with a toast to ‘absent friends’. He had mentioned Dad, of course, but he had also spoken about Mike, which had moved me greatly. To have found someone else, after what I had had with Mike and lost so brutally was truly fortunate. To have found Tom, a man who not only loved and cherished me but who accepted everything about me, including that legacy, was truly a miracle.

I looked up again and there he was. He stood across the empty dance floor, watching me and waiting. Waiting as he had in those opera house lobbies, as he had through the long months while I struggled with my feelings, as he had while I worked through the grief that had blighted my life for so long. I got up and walked over to him, allowing myself to be enveloped in his long arms and his love.

_“We’ve only just begun…”_ he sang softly as we moved to the music. I found his hands with mine and we laced our fingers together. I rested my cheek against his chest and heard his heart beating steadily. After a bit I joined in.

“ _And when the evening comes, we smile_ …”

“ _So many roads to choose_ …”


End file.
